


Liebesträume no. 3 in A flat

by gr8escap



Series: Neighbors [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Political Animals
Genre: Fluff, Food, Gen, Music, Neighbors, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on <a href="http://steverogersnotebook.tumblr.com/post/145444283130/pahndamonium-steverogersnotebook">this post</a> where I was tagged by @pahndamonium to write about TJ</p>
    </blockquote>





	Liebesträume no. 3 in A flat

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://steverogersnotebook.tumblr.com/post/145444283130/pahndamonium-steverogersnotebook) where I was tagged by @pahndamonium to write about TJ

 

  


 

This made the fourth consecutive time TJ had played, or tried to play Liszt’s Feux Follets. He was awake, suffering insomnia for the fourth night straight. He had lost count on the number of times his brain tried to tell him that all he had to do was take a pill, which would also unravel everything. TJ had been out of rehab for 9 weeks, clean for thirteen. Insomnia was his latest penance for quitting, or for starting in the first place.

Ok, then, fifth time. TJ counted as he missed a note and sent himself back to the top of the number. Maybe if he could complete this number, he could go to sleep. He couldn’t imagine anything else keeping him up, just his inadequacy. He turned his phone over, 3:48 am. Missed Text: Douglas; Missed Text: Mom.

He turned the phone back on its face on the piano and launched into the fifth ‘performance’. There was a click, a rattle and a clatter, all of which came from the front door. TJ looked up to see a paper folded in half, the corner of it flipping with the air coming through the vent. He sighed; he wasn’t going to finish this, which meant he was _never_ going to get any sleep.

TJ opened the balcony door before he made his way toward the mystery (not quite so mysterious, it was obviously a complaint, because he was obviously keeping the world awake with his insomnia) note. He turned the A/C off before stooping to retrieve the likely furious note.

The paper was thin and a spicy fragrance struck him as he flicked the folded sheet open. The handwriting was crisp and neat and seemed to be incongruous to the words printed on the paper:

_A humble request to the pianist:_

_Liebesträume no. 3 in A flat_

TJ raised an eyebrow, and looked at the door. Intrigued, he pursed his lips, bit the inside of his cheek, and then nodded, “what the hell?”

He set the note on the music rack before reseating himself at the keys. This Liszt tune was far more forgiving, and it proved to soothe TJ’s anxiety as he worked the notes from his hands and the instrument. TJ felt his shoulders and chest loosen as he breathed the summer air and the soft spice coming from the paper in front of him.

It had to be the most peaceful five minutes he had experienced in at least the last thirteen weeks, if not ever. Music was always his escape, but this mystery neighbor found the balm that TJ had been seeking. TJ heard applause, he dismissed it, yet it didn’t stop. He crossed the room to the door to his balcony and stepped out. He looked to the left and right, and then he heard it above him. He looked up.

“Thank you for the song.” A strong voice said over the continued clapping.

“Thank you for not reporting me. I’m sorry if I was keeping you up.” TJ said to the person above him. He couldn’t see him, but his voice was friendly. “I’m TJ by the way. You must be the new neighbor? I’m sorry if I made a bad first impression.”

“Slow down TJ, I can’t answer them all at once.” The voice from above said with a slight laugh, it was a pleasant sound, “you weren’t keeping me up; I have my own demons to do that. I am the new neighbor, either word travels fast or my moving in made enough noise to disturb _you_.”

“No, you didn’t, you haven’t. Word does travel fast in this building.” TJ kept craning over the balcony to see his new neighbor; he got no satisfaction from his attempts, nor did his new neighbor offer his name.

“I don’t have anything to offer you for your performance, unless you’re hungry. I’ve been craving this baked French toast dish and I didn’t bother to cut the recipe in half. I could put it in now instead of at dawn like I’d planned, if you’d like to come up?”

“I don’t know if I should, I mean, I don’t even know your name. I’m prone to do self-destructive things and this has a hint of red flag.”

“I’m Steve. I’ll even shake your hand properly if you come up. It’ll take about 45 minutes, if you don’t want to make small-talk while we wait, you can come up then. Otherwise you’re welcome any time.”

“I just gotta put a shirt on, I’ll be right up.”

“I’ll leave the door open.” The voice from above said, with a touch of humor.

TJ tossed a clean t-shirt on, he was already wearing track pants, and headed up the stairs. It was only when he hit the cool tile landing that he realized his feet were still bare. Oh well, it was just another apartment and breakfast. No sense putting shoes on for that.

He turned the knob on the door to the apartment above his and even though he’d been told it was unlocked, he couldn’t help the surprise when it turned. “Hey, leaving your door unlocked isn’t the best idea.” He said to what appeared to be an empty apartment. From the doorway he could see the oven was, in fact, on. He went to the door to the balcony, “Hey.”

“Hi.” The warm voice said from the railing. The man was tall, well built, TJ appreciated the man’s silhouette. He turned to offer TJ his hand, “Nice to meet you TJ. Like I said, I’m Steve.”

TJ could make out the basic shape of the man’s face with the exception of a shadow that TJ assumed was a beard. “Nice to meet you Steve.”

“Let’s go inside.” The man offered in a friendly gesture.

“Thanks, hey, if I’m bothering you, if the music disturbed you…”

“No, I have trouble sleeping. I thought you needed a break from Feux Follets. I needed a break from Feux Follets.” They stepped into the dimly lit apartment and TJ saw the soft blue eyes lit up with humor.

“Sucked that much, did it?”

“No, honestly, I couldn’t figure out why you were replaying it. It sounded great.”

“It’s a little complex, I kept fucking it up, thought that if I could play it through once without making a mistake I could get some sleep.”

“So, you were awake for an entirely different reason, yet you thought completing one song to perfection would cure your insomnia?” the humor in is tone was unmistakable.

“I don’t think straight when I’m tired, or when I’m trying to engage my mind in something other than chemical methods. I’m a recovering addict and insomnia has taken over in recent days.” TJ answered. “You look familiar, have we met?”

Steve moved into the kitchen and turned the light on before peering into the oven to check the food TJ could smell cinnamon and sweetness as the oven door closed. He turned around and TJ cocked his head inspecting his neighbor’s face.

“Shit.” He said, “Steve, as in Captain America, Steve Rogers?”

“One and the same.” The man said with a grimace, “TJ, as in Son of the President, TJ Hammond.”

“Ha-ha. You’re funny.” TJ leaned against the counter. “So you know classical music and some kind of kitchen sorcery. Who knew?”

“You obsess over music to relax, I bake. It’s a combination of memory and therapy. Doesn’t hurt that my metabolism is off the charts.”

“I’m going to ask, because it’s going to drive me crazy until I do, what’s with the incognito look? Are you hiding from someone?”

“I just… to be honest, I don’t know. Curiosity, I guess. I have a couple of weeks where I have nothing expected of me, thought I could give not shaving a try. It’s something I never entertained before.”

“It looks great; of course you would _also_ grow a perfect beard.” TJ huffed, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’d trade for your hair, if we’re going to expose our wish lists.” Steve chuckled, resting his hip against the counter, “have a seat TJ, and make yourself comfortable.”

“So,” TJ said, settling into the padded stool at the island, “you seem to be settled in pretty well, did you do all this yourself?”

“I had a moving crew, and a decorator, when all I wanted was to bring a chair and maybe a sofa in and set up by the patio with some art supplies.”

“If that’s _all_ you wanted, why the decorator and moving crew?”

“Interfering friends.” Steve pulled plates from a cabinet and utensils from a drawer, “I’m sorry, I meant _concerned_ friends.”

“You’re a sassy bastard, never would have guessed that.” TJ laughed.

“’M from Brooklyn, born and bred, I didn’t drop from a diaphanous cloud. Much to everyone’s confusion.”

“Ooh, I like you. You’ve got just enough ‘don’t give a shit’ to be fun to hang around.”

“I do though. I do give a shit.”

“I didn’t call you heartless, you can tell you’ve just about had it with the generalizations, and it’s refreshing. I’da bet you were gonna say ‘it doesn’t matter what people think, free country and all that’ but no, you’re done. I really do like it.”

“Seems maybe you’re tired of bullshit politics yourself?” Steve’s smile was ready this time.

“Oh only you… I don’t think many other people would understand the weight of the words you just dropped.” TJ tossed his head back with the purest laugh he’d had in ages. “I’m so glad you’re my neighbor, Mr. Rogers.”

TJ snickered at his own joke and scrunched his nose when the thing took him over, causing him uncontrollable giggles.

Steve looked at his neighbor, pleased with the joyful sound of laughter. Even if it _was_ at his expense, because he was sure that the second part of TJ’s comment was entirely at his expense, even if he didn’t get the significance. Of course, he’d known as soon as he saw him, that TJ was TJ Hammond. He was up-to-date on most of the political events, even the social aspects. He knew TJ’d had many struggles with sobriety. That couldn’t be the hallmark of a happy person, so the unsolicited laughter was welcome.

Even then, he was incredibly curious about what could possibly be so funny. “I know when laughter is at my expense and the reference is lost on me, care to explain?”

“You got Netflix?” TJ asked, still suffering from his giggles. “or YouTube? I left my phone in my apartment.”

Steve picked up his remote from the basket of the nuisances he kept on the sofa table, which apparently was a thing he had needed. He still wasn’t sure why just a coffee table wouldn’t work. Something sturdy enough to kick his feet up on, it was his home after all, but there were side tables, and the sofa table, and an ottoman that had trays he could _use_ as a coffee table. He turned the television on and pulled out yet another remote for the device that controlled yet another device. He could have had a ‘ _smart_ ’ tv, but these two devices together did the same thing for less money. At least that he could put his foot down on, because he’d bought them before Tony had decided his ‘ _humble_ ’ home was unacceptable. Once Netflix was loaded, he handed the remote to TJ. “Help yourself.”

TJ queued up Mister Rogers Neighborhood, humming the theme as he did. His hum was interspersed with faint giggles the closer he got to the show itself. “It’s a kids’ show. It’s a little dated, but then again, that depends on which decade you’re from.”

“It’s called Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, and he sings about having the viewers, kids, as his neighbor. He changes from his business clothes to his play clothes, to teach the kids. It’s sweet.”

Steve watched the friendly faced, kindly voiced man talking to the camera, presumably speaking to children, in a mellow tone, but not belittling them. “I’m sure you were comparing our calm demeanor and our public persona and not making fun of the name.” Steve said, pulling the casserole dish from the oven. “I mean, it’s better than the age jokes I’ve been getting.”

“I’m better than age jokes. Hey, if I offended you, let’s blame lack of sleep, I’m getting punchy, but I’d prefer not to get punched.”

“No, it’s fine. I take it you were reduced to the name thing though, since you didn’t deny it.”

“Jesus, Steve that smells delicious. Yes, it was the name asshole.” TJ said then covered his mouth, eyes wide, “Sorry. I usually reserve asshole comments for my brother and my friends.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We’re neighbors, I’m the loud one with the mouth that won’t quit and you’re the one who has a dry, dry ass sense of humor (if you have one at all) and a really great way with food. At least if it tastes like it smells.”

“Since you’re judging both my sense of humor and cooking skills, you’re probably ok. I’d say we could venture out of ‘just neighbors’ and into ‘maybe friends’. You want to be loud, just don’t play the same song four – or was it five – times in a row.”

“That request you sent down, really pulled me together. I was a bit all over the place with my thoughts. Something personal about it?”

“A little side class from when I went to art school. Liszt was my class project.”

“Shit, you’re an artist? That’s right, you did say art supplies.”

“One of the things that didn’t make the record books.” Steve said, plating a decent sized portion of the baked French toast. He topped it with some baked apples that were in a separate casserole dish.

“Mmmm.” TJ said, inhaling the aromatic steam as Steve handed him the warm plate. “This smells like heaven.”

“I hope it tastes even half as good as you’re making it sound.” Steve smiled, pulling up a seat next to TJ. “I’ll make you a deal, you alternate your playlist a little when you have to play in the middle of the night, and I’ll make enough to share when I have to bake in the middle of the night.”

“I like the way you think Mister Rogers.” TJ crinkled his nose and smiled. “Feel free to send me any special requests.”

Steve found he really liked the way TJ’s face lit up when he laughed, and the smiling crinkles at the corners of his steel-blue eyes were especially endearing.

TJ couldn’t stop gushing over the flavors, the apples and cinnamon, the flavors and custard-like texture of the baked French toast. “I don’t know when I’ve had something this good.”

“You’d think it was too ‘peasant’ for someone who grew up with some of the greatest chefs making your after-school snacks.” Steve observed, with a proud smile in spite of his words.

“You’d think. But then again, someone who was raised wearing Italian designer suits shouldn’t be sitting barefoot in what are essentially his pajamas in his neighbor’s apartment before sunrise either. I don’t fit a mold Captain. I’m pretty much an original.”

“I’m beginning to see that, TJ.” Steve chuckled.

They talked more about baking and music while Steve ate a second portion and TJ sat against the back of the bar stool, his arm thrown over the padded back. Steve complained, good-naturedly, about the insistence by his friends for the excess in his apartment and TJ had to wonder what, exactly was excess about the sparsely decorated home.

“I didn’t want it outfitted for entertaining everyone I know. I wanted it to be completely mine, but how do you say ‘no’ to someone’s fervent desire to make you feel comfortable in a century you’re _never_ going to completely feel your feet on the ground in?”

“You just stand up for yourself, I guess.” TJ mused, “It’s nice, and seems cozy. However, if it’s your place and just not your style, maybe you should contact the designer, see about returning the stuff you don’t particularly love and leave it at that. Be gentle, as an artist, you know how it is to have your work rejected. My sister-in-law is a designer; another sensitive type. Then you’ll want to send a thank you note to your friends, of course, for the kindness.”

“You see why I haven’t done any of that, right? Too many people to offend.”

“Ok, have a yard sale, get rid of anything you hate and donate the money to a charity. If anyone asks, just say, you needed the space.”

Steve laughed then, and it was TJ’s turn to appreciate the sound of it, and the softening of the crease between  Steve’s eyes. TJ offered to help clean up and was shooed away from the sink, “If you don’t need me, then I’m going to go see if I can catch a couple of winks. Thanks for the song request and for the delicious breakfast.”

“Any time TJ.” Steve said, turning to dry his hands on the towel hanging by the sink, he walked with TJ to the door, “I mean it, if you need anything at all, just come by, or call. I’ll put my number on my next song request.”

TJ looked at Steve with a tender smile, “I’ll keep an eye out for it. Maybe I’ll slip a recipe request through your mail-slot some time.”

“I’m counting on it.”


End file.
